Monday, September 29, 2014

It seems—by this wornout green-by-burnt-umber fringe of late September—that everything must be more than a little bit tired—or else, such slack agglomerations as these—mums and petunias; that brazenshort skirt and long oatmeal sweater; or even—the whole hazyconceit of thosetwo separate seasons altogether—simplywouldn't be able to keep themselves propped-up so flimsily—simply by leaning dispassionatelyback on each other.

Friday, September 26, 2014

But then—the very next day—the sun came again;yellow by way of burnt orangebyburst of bright born-again magenta—and it shone—warm;the same simple perfect circle—from the other day.Only,now—little things about the discirked him;the ardor such a juxtaposition of shades seemed to inspire,and the over-simplicity of the shape—and so on.

And then too—the prodigious height and weight of the very thought ofday-after-day truly began to dawn in his mind,and he suddenly kind-of wished he'd drawn—the whole dumb thing a little differently.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Child of the morning—is there noneof this—silly strawberry bow tie's blithe joy in your heart? can you seeno point?—not so much asa hintof solidity?—even in the mostdurable slice of golden fleckedtoast laid-out next to me?—rough hewnand shiny crustedand gilded in thick jam—andhot cocoa,powderedsugar-dustedmarmalade—potatoes gratin!or at least—the up-curled little quiver—of baconthat signifies the wholeof which they know you to be capable—not to mention—like it or not—all that I ever am!

Friday, September 19, 2014

Okay—so then maybe he's justthe most charitable kind!of artist—one who—often downright overripe with things to type—no longerminds—the quiet depravity of all these aimless and enfeebled fruitflies in his kitchenette—

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Even the warm feelusually createdin my mouth by the word—homemade—feels chillyand hardwhen comparedto the bright wednesday light which—I swear is bending a little more generouslyaround the two tender and feculent mengenially splitting-up—a dilapidated white sandwich in the back alley.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Oh—Although! eachof my blistering feetis so tired—I'll swear I'll keep righton trying—to walk on the bright side—because—damn! it's the samestory—beating-blind rain—or white nauseous sun shining—I've stillgot! to keepgetting on top of the need to get going—in order to ensurethe best of my stir-crazy customers—stays completely satisfied.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

What abominable manner of creatureis this!—who would dareto exist? leather-headed mock-tailed—always rushing around through thick briars in a piss—yetnever quite arriving there—at the endof his nightmare;like a edgy wildrabbit—who nonetheless still can't helpconstantly falling asleep—and waking up trapped inside the dim haunted mind of a tortoisewho—himselffeels half-sure he's—a shell of a hare.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

And to think—while you were out there—runningthis morning—turned inward and so furiousunder the difficultgreen canopies of treeleaves—for something,from something,whatever it was;

cicadas'—enduring coming and going oscillations were all the while—in alternationsgentlyand then rathergenerously massaging—whatever sweatyreasons whyyou could have possibly offered!right out of thin air—along with most of the humidity.

Dan Smart is a poet, writer, and musician who currently works as News Editor and contributor at online music publication Tiny Mix Tapes, contributing editor at nonprofit writing and tutoring center 826CHI, and producer/engineer at ECHO/NORMAL recording studio in Chicago, IL. He received his BA in Creative Writing from Illinois Wesleyan University in 2006, where he has since returned to guest-lecture on poetry on several occasions. Publications include Spoon River Poetry Review, The Legendary, Cease Cows Magazine, Red Fez, Hooligan Magazine, poetry/criticism blog Structure And Surprise. His daily-poetry blog, Rhythm Is The Instrument, has been active since 2013 and presently contains over 1,500 works.